


Straight to Hell (Feels Like Heaven)

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Church Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Roleplay, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2314949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Like Bucky can control his bodily reactions when he's got Steve whispering in his ear, low and dirty, about how he doesn't know if he's even gonna be able to wait til they get home, that Bucky just looks so goddamn good in his suit (suit that Steve's seen a million times before, it's the only one he has, but that doesn't seem to matter), and "Buck, need to get my hands on you, c'mon, nobody's using the confessional now," and that's when Bucky's breath punches its way out of his lungs and it's only quick thinking that turns it into a cough instead of the low, shuddery groan that wants to escape.</i>
</p>
<p>Steve is so much more devious than anybody but Bucky realizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Straight to Hell (Feels Like Heaven)

**Author's Note:**

> So very, very many thanks to [Misa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragazza_Guasto/pseuds/Ragazza_Guasto), who was my cheerleader on this from the very beginning.
> 
> If you're offended by the idea of sex in a church, I do not blame you, but I will say this story is probably not for you. I have plenty of other non-blasphemous fics if you'd like!

The thing about Steve is he's got the face of an angel. Bucky, now, Bucky knows he's a pretty handsome fella, but he's what you might call _rakish_ if you were feeling kind, and downright _devilish_ if you weren't. It's his lips, Bucky thinks. He can't help them, can't help their cherry-candy color or the way they curve that makes dames blush. People look at Bucky, and they think _trouble_.

But Stevie, with his soft blond hair and his clear blue eyes, smile like sunshine and features delicate enough for a doll – when people look at Stevie, they don't think _trouble_. They think _sweet_ , or _kind_ , or _innocent_.

Which is why he gets away with so goddamn much.

Nobody suspects Steve when Bucky explodes into a coughing fit in the middle of mass on Sunday, they just all turn toward the back pew and glare. Like Bucky can control his bodily reactions when he's got Steve whispering in his ear, low and dirty, about how he doesn't know if he's even gonna be able to wait til they get home, that Bucky just looks so goddamn _good_ in his suit (suit that Steve's seen a million times before, it's the only one he has, but that doesn't seem to matter), and "Buck, need to get my hands on you, c'mon, nobody's using the confessional now," and that's when Bucky's breath punches its way out of his lungs and it's only quick thinking that turns it into a cough instead of the low, shuddery groan that wants to escape.

The next thing he knows Steve's got him by the elbow and he's ushering the both of them out of the pew, casting apologetic looks at the priest and the congregation with the most _guileless_ expression on his face, while Bucky flushes deep and keeps his eyes on the ground, hands folded in front of his crotch, not trusting himself to look at anyone and especially not at Steve.

They pause to genuflect on the way out, the very image of perfect little choirboys, and no one even notices when they turn left towards the confessional booths instead of going straight out the door.

Bucky knows what they say about stuff like this, how it's unnatural, wrong, how it means you're going to hell, but he just can't understand how God could get so angry about two people loving each other like him and Steve do, even if those two people are both men.

This, though, God might have a problem with, Bucky thinks as Steve ushers him into the confessional – the priest's side, not the penitent's, which feels doubly wrong, and just makes his dick pulse harder in his slacks. _Fuck_ , he knows where this is going, and he's pretty sure Stevie's outdone himself this time.

No one would ever suspect Steve Rogers of having a single impure thought, probably don't imagine he even knows how to get off, if they think about him that way at all. Bucky doesn't understand how nobody but him seems to notice the mischief in those bright blue eyes, the slyness of that sweet pink smile.

The idea that Steve would be doing – _this_ – _here_ – _with Bucky_ – and that moreover it would be _his_ idea, from start to finish, that behind that pretty little innocent face is a mind so goddamn devious he can still shock Bucky, who's nigh-unshockable – well, not a damn person would ever believe it. They'd lock Bucky in the loony bin for even suggesting it, if he ever brought it up. Not sweet little Stevie Rogers.

 

Sweet little Stevie Rogers, who is whispering through the grille at Bucky now, voice hoarse and ragged. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

And Bucky will go straight to hell when he dies if it means he gets to keep hearing that wrecked voice. He looks at his watch – half an hour before mass gets out, they should have enough time, especially with the way his prick is leaking against the fly of his underwear and how Steve's always-unsteady breathing is even harsher against the grille.

He clenches his fists to ground him, and responds, “Confess your sins to me, my child, so you may be granted absolution.” The words roll off his tongue easy as anything, although he's on the wrong side of it now. He spares a brief thought to what Father Creegan would think of this, the horrified look on his face if he knew what the two of them were up to, then pushes it away when Steve starts speaking again.

“Been having impure thoughts, Father,” Steve whispers, and Bucky bites back a groan. “You see,” he continues, “I got this roommate – well, he's more than that, my best friend really, but – he's real good-lookin', and sometimes I find myself thinking about him in ways I know I shouldn't.”

Bucky presses a hand against his crotch and fights to keep his voice level. “Ways like what? It isn't a sin to love one's fellow man, you know.”

Steve lets out a low chuckle. “I think this goes a little beyond that, Father. Sometimes when he comes home from work he's all sweaty and dirty, his shirt soaked through with sweat so it's just about see-through, and my mouth just starts waterin', y'know? Like I want to taste him. Take my tongue to his skin, feel him under my teeth. Mess him up real nice, mark him up so everybody knows he belongs to me, that he's all mine. And that ain't right, is it? To want to do that to your best buddy? Even if he does have lips prettier than any dame's, and longer eyelashes, too?”

Bucky can't even take a breath before Steve's continuing. “And Father, sometimes I just can't help it, I get so _excited_ about the things I'm thinkin' about, that I – well, I...” he trails off and gives a little embarrassed huff that Bucky knows is pure bullshit, because Steve has never been embarrassed by anything for as long as they've known each other. Steve's all bravado and bluster, puffed-up and cocky because no one takes him seriously otherwise. A lot of folks still don't, but that's their problem. So Bucky knows this blushing schoolboy thing is just an act, but goddamn if that doesn't make it even more appealing.

“Yes, my child?” Bucky prompts, fingers tracing the shape of his erection through his trousers and fighting the urge to thrust. Jesus, he doesn't know how much more of this he can take, he's been ready to explode since they left mass, but he'll be damned if he's gonna give in first. Stevie started this, and he's gonna finish it.

But _fuck_ , he'd better hurry it up because Bucky's about to come in his pants and won't that be a treat to try and hide on the walk home.

“Well, Father, like I said, I get so excited, sometimes I can't stop myself from – from taking things into my own hands, so to speak. See, I'm usually home when my buddy's at work, and I'm all by myself, and – well, sometimes I get to thinkin' about him, and the things I'd like to do to him, and the things I wish he'd do to me, and the next thing you know I'm flat on my back with my shorts around my ankles and my dick in my hand.”

Bucky chokes on nothing, on air. His hips make little abortive thrusts into the air, pushing his cock harder into his hand, the pressure both too much and not enough. Jesus Christ, he's about to blow.

“And Father, that's not even the worst of it.” Steve lets out a little _whine_ , and Bucky can just picture him on the other side of the grille, face flushed all pretty pink like it gets whenever he's turned on, skinny little bird chest heaving, maybe with a hand down his pants already – Bucky wouldn't be surprised. “The worst part is, you know where I am when I do it? Every time? I'm on his bed. 'Cause it smells like him, y'know, and it just gets me goin' like you wouldn't believe, makes me just tingle everywhere, like my whole body's lit up with electricity. Wanna just bury myself inside him, wrap myself tight around him and never let him go.”

Steve sounds broken and breathless, and Bucky wants nothing more than to go home and let Steve pound into him until neither of them can move. But Steve's still running his mouth, and Bucky's not about to stop him when the words coming out are so goddamn gorgeous.

“ _Oh_ , Father, and when I finally start jerking off all I can think about is how good his hand would feel on my dick, or even better, his _mouth_ , with those sweet red lips of his.” Little gasps and groans make their way through the grille, slick wet sounds like, fuck, like Steve's got his _fingers_ in between his lips, and Bucky's cock is throbbing so hard he can almost _hear_ it, or maybe that's just the blood rushing in his ears. “Sometimes if I've got time I even slick myself up with some lotion and grip real tight and pretend I'm fucking right into that beautiful mouth, and I'm not gonna lie, Father, it feels so good that I take the Lord's name in vain pretty regularly.”

“Holy _–_ Jesus _Christ_ , Stevie,” Bucky huffs, unable to keep up the act any longer, and Steve lets out a strangled laugh on the other side of the booth.

“Yeah, sounds just like that.”

 

Bucky snorts, pausing for a moment to make sure they're still alone before pushing out of his side and opening Steve's door. The sight he's greeted with is stunning, fucking _divine –_ Steve pressed up against the wall of the booth, pink across his cheeks and nose, and oh, _oh._ Christ Almighty, he's got his dick out, beautiful flush at the tip, the same color as his bite-swollen bottom lip, and Bucky, well, Bucky can't help himself. He pushes into Steve's space, pulls the door shut behind them, and falls to his knees, ready to worship this fucking angel of his.

Steve looks down at him, chagrined. “Ah, Buck, why'd you go and ruin it, I was almost finished – wanted to tell the Father about how after I come thinkin' about you inside me, I lick off the spunk from my hand and pretend it's yours, and I was gonna ask how much penance he thought I oughta do – mmph!” Bucky cuts Steve off with a kiss, rough and bruising, all clacking teeth, and he can feel Steve laughing against him.

“You're the Devil, you know that, the actual Devil himself,” Bucky says between kisses, loving the feeling of Steve pressed against him, small and strong, and warm for once, and all his, _all his_. “The Devil,” he murmurs again, and then, in the same breath, “God, Stevie, love you so fuckin' much.”

Steve pulls back and looks at him, all traces of teasing gone, and the smile on his face is so soft and so _bright_ Bucky feels his chest clench like he's having one of Steve's asthma attacks. “Love you too, Bucky, more'n anything.” He stretches, hard line of his prick coming into contact with Bucky's thigh, and rolls his hips with a moan. “Now please, _please_ suck me off before we get caught and excommunicated and thrown in jail, c'mon, Buck, please, want your mouth so bad, _need_ it, been waitin' too long...”

Bucky chuckles, sound muffled against the fever-hot skin of Steve's neck. “You're the one who wouldn't shut up, idiot, wasn't my fault; been ready to get you off since you started talkin' dirty to me in the pew. This is all on you, pal.” He looks up at Steve through his eyelashes, grinning at the desperation in his blown-black eyes. “Maybe your penance should be me not touching you at all, what d'ya think about that? No Hail Marys for you, just me not givin' you what you want, how about it?”

Stevie honest-to-goodness _growls_ at that, rough sound torn from the back of his throat like a feral animal, and _oh_ does Bucky love him like this, loves that he's the only one who gets to see him this way, wild and unselfconscious, his fierce beautiful boy, his, his, _his,_ and Bucky's taunting facade breaks because he can't deny Steve anything; never has, never wanted to.

“No, babydoll, don't you worry, gonna take real good care of you, I didn't mean it, sweetheart, how could I keep my hands off you?” To prove it, Bucky wraps his fingers around Steve's cock, swallows Steve's gasp with another kiss. He strokes him slow to start, fist tight but unhurried, until Steve's whimpering and writhing beneath him. “That's it, beautiful, gonna make you feel so good, always gonna take care of you, so gorgeous, look at you.”

Steve claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds he's making, whispers from behind his fingers, “Buck, Bucky, oh please, please, I gotta – I'll do anything – Bucky _please,_ your mouth, wanna -”

“Shh, baby, I got you,” Bucky says, letting go of Steve's erection to grab his bony hips, tugging him forward on the little seat until his ass is nearly hanging off the edge. “I got you, spread your legs for me, dollface, let me taste you, that's it, _fuck_.” He dips his head down, swallows Steve's dick down as far as he can take it, and groans at the feel of the head bumping the back of his throat. Above him Steve shudders, threading long fingers through Bucky's pomade-sticky hair, grasping and tugging, and the hushed, cut-off noises he's making lets Bucky know he's close, so close.

Bucky pulls off and swirls his tongue around the tip, licks up the precome pooling in the slit. “Taste so good, sweetheart, never can get enough of you. You gonna come for me, baby? C'mon, yeah, that's it, give me everything you got. Come for me, Stevie.” 

Steve's got his eyes squeezed shut and his head thrown back, and Bucky swallows him down deep again, relaxes his throat so he can take all of him in, breathes shallow breaths through his nose as Steve thrusts up, jerky and desperate.

It's barely a minute of Steve fucking his throat before Bucky hears him gasp, and then he can feel Steve's dick pulsing in his mouth, feel Steve's come hitting the back of his throat, nearly choking him so that he has to pull back and let the last few feeble spurts hit the flat of his tongue instead. He groans at the taste,lapping at Steve's cock until Steve forces him away with trembling hands, pulls his face up so they're nose-to-nose, sharing each other's breaths.

“God, Buck, so good, you're so good to me, so perfect, love you so much,” Steve murmurs against Bucky's lips, and Bucky feels the words bloom in his chest, bright and hot and all-encompassing. There's nothing in the whole world that can compare to this, Bucky's sure; nothing that even comes close to knowing he's the one Steve's chosen to love. He wants to stay just like this, wants to bask in the warmth of Steve's smile and hold him tight and kiss him until they're both breathless, but it's uncomfortable in this tiny little booth, and -

“Jesus fuck, mass gets out in five minutes, we gotta get out of here, _shit_ ,” Bucky exclaims, then winces, his erection making itself known against the unforgiving zip of his trousers when he unfolds himself from his crouch on the floor. “Ow, damn it, come on, let's – _ohhh, fuck, Stevie...”_

Bucky trails off, breath coming in stuttering gasps, because Stevie, his Stevie, his innocent all-American golden boy Stevie, is making quick work of his fly and pulling out his aching, throbbing dick with a look on his face like he's getting the best goddamn treat of his life. He doesn't waste any time, tongue laving at the head while his clever hands work the rest of the shaft, and Bucky's biting so hard on his bottom lip to keep from screaming that he's sure he's gonna bite clear through it.

“ _Fuck_ , sweetheart, so fuckin' amazing, your mouth looks so good around my cock, goddamn, baby.” Bucky knows he's babbling but he can't help it; feels like he's been on the knife-edge of coming for hours, even though he knows that isn't true. Steve looks up at him through heavy-lidded eyes and grips him tighter, jacks him harder, slurps wet and messy around the crown. “Oh, God, Stevie, angel, that's it, just like that, God, please, yes, _yes_ ,” and then he's coming, spilling down Steve's throat, and the rapture in Steve's face as he swallows it down is like it's the goddamn sacramental wine and Stevie's a man dying for salvation.

Bucky pets Steve's hair weakly, incapable of anything more coordinated, and Steve smiles around his softening cock before pulling off and wiping his mouth. Bucky's barely got himself tucked back in his pants when the bells chime, signaling the end of Mass, and the terror that strikes him is enough to clear away any lingering post-orgasm haze.

“Fuck,” Steve swears, and then they're both scrambling to get out of the booth before the congregation starts pouring out of the chapel. It's like a Three Stooges routine, both of them pushing to get out the door at the same time and blocking each other in, and Bucky'd laugh if he weren't so damn anxious. Finally he stays put, pushes Stevie out the door, and waits for him to signal the all-clear before he follows.

They're just pushing open the little-used side door when they hear the heavy oak doors of the chapel thud open. Without turning to look, they rush out and hurry behind the church, Steve gasping and wheezing but grinning the whole time.

“The look on your _face,_ Buck,” Steve chokes out, helpless laughter turning into a shuddering cough, and he grabs his inhaler out of his pocket and takes a couple good puffs before continuing. “Haven't seen you that scared since Julie Anderson's Halloween party when we were twelve.” He sinks down to the ground, heedless of the dust and dirt that's gonna get on his one good suit, and shakes his head, still laughing.

Bucky glares. “Don't know why I even put up with you, Rogers. You're nothin' but trouble.” There's a pause, a moment of hesitation, and then he sighs and settles himself next to Steve on the ground.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, mouth curving up in a soft, secret smile, the one that never fails to make Bucky feel safe, and warm, and _loved_. “But I'm your trouble.”

And hell if that don't that just sum up everything.


End file.
